Monday’s rose. A single rose in a bud vase arrived every Monday, delivered to the corner of my mother’s desk. The other employees marveled at my father’s romantic gesture.

 

No one knew the story that lay behind Monday’s rose.

 

For most of their marriage, my parents experienced a good life. They worked hard, scrimped and saved, raised a family, and lived a modest life.

 

I married young and left home at eighteen years old to begin building a life with my husband. Several moves occurred, two children came along, and there were occasional visits with my parents.

 

One day, my Mom called. The tone of her voice instantly raised concern. She explained that my Dad had fallen and cracked some ribs. Then she revealed a hidden secret.

 

My Dad was an alcoholic.

 

My head exploded. Anger, disappointment, and hurt surged through my heart. Anger that I didn’t know earlier, disappointment in my Dad, and hurt because of my Mom’s silence about this struggle.

 

Throughout my childhood, I knew my Dad drank an occasional beer. He held his drinking in check, and I never saw him overindulge. Years after I left home, there came a time where Dad struggled with the loss of a job, and things spiraled out of control. Thankfully, my mother never suffered any physical abuse. But one day, Mom confronted Dad and gave him an ultimatum.

 

Fortunately, at this point, Dad agreed he needed help. He checked into a rehab center and faced his addiction.

 

My parents were part of the “silent generation” that never felt comfortable speaking about their problems. As a result, I know few details about that time in their marriage. My Mom once shared that my Dad felt guilty about the time he lost with grandchildren because of his addiction.

 

Eventually, my parents’ lives returned to normal. I never spoke to my Dad about his struggles. A very private man, he rarely spoke of personal matters.

 

Through this process, I realized that love can be expressed in radically different ways.

 

We all express our love differently. Some of us prefer using words, some use touch, and some show love through gifts.

 

Too often, I expect people to show love according to my preferences. And when they don’t – I feel rejected. Finally, I realized that love surrounded me, but in many different ways.

 

Looking with new eyes, I realized that when my husband vacuums the house or fills my car with gas, he’s expressing his love and care for me through deed.

 

My daughter shows her love through handwritten notes and cards. She pours her heart into the written word, in an age where people rarely take time to handwrite notes.

 

Mom expressed her love to Dad through words of “tough love” and by persevering through the hard times.

 

After Dad’s recovery from his addiction, he showed his love by sending a rose to my Mom every week for the rest of his life.

 

God showed his love for us by sending his Son, Jesus, to die for our sins.

 

We all demonstrate love in different ways.

 

My Dad rarely spoke words of love.

 

Monday’s rose spoke for him.

 

Slow down and show love to someone today.

 

Be a Monday’s rose.